The Amateur Players (Closed for TheWorldBuilder)

[AndreaSubbie]

Andi looked from Polly to Paul and back to Polly.

She knew she'd gone white, could almost feel the blood draining out of her face. Her first reaction had been mild embarassment at Polly's revelation, then mild annoyance; why had no-one mentioned this was how to wear the costume. Then shock and fear, as the significance dawned on her.

Paul looked like a volcano about to erupt.

The full horror of the situation struck her, and staring in anguish at what looked like fury on Paul's face, Andi snapped.

She didn't cry, or even cry out. Her mouth was so dry she could barely choke out the "Excuse me!" and she forced her way like an eel past Polly and even squeezed round Paul in the doorway, hurrying as fast as she could to the Ladies toilets.

She locked herself in a cubicle and quickly and clumsily rid herself of her wrong underclothes.

"FUCK!" she screamed out loud. Then banging the flimsy wall of the stall in time to her words exclaimed, "Fuckity fuckity fuckity fuckity fuckity FUCK! SHIT! SHIT! SHIT! SHIT! SHIT!" each boom reverberating round the room like the inside of a drum.

It was a cry form the heart, full of fear and grief and horror. And humiliation.

She had got it so wrong. What must they all think of her? They were probably all laughing their heads off at her stupid naivety. Except Paul. He would probably be so dreadfully disappointed in her. Let down. His play ruined. Just because she was a stupid simpleton. She just hadn't realised.

No role centre stage.

No part in the Panto.

No more nice Paul. He'd hate her. He'd be disappointed.

But she couldn't do it. It was too much. No way.

The echoes of her thumping had died away. She straightened her shoulders, clutching her white thong and flesh bra in her left hand, naked beneath the flimsy Tunica.

Andi stepped out of the Ladies into the passage, shoulders back and chin up, head held high, and returned to where she'd left the rest of her clothes, ostentatiously draping her modern underwear on top.

She caught Polly's eye and nodded. Her way of saying, "I'm ready."

But ready for what?

 

[TheWorldBuilder]

Lee's words were as disconcerting as they were unexpected. ”Paul, has anyone told Andi that we don't use our own underwear in anything set before Waterloo?”

“Stop blathering,” the big man grumped, “if there's a problem with your lighting rig, just tell me.”

“It's not my stuff, Chief, I don't think Dorothy explained the costume properly to Andi.”

“Fu..” Without even completing the expletive, Paul strode the length of the Green Room and into the kitchen. His anger at whoever's omission had allowed the potentially awkward situation to develop was barely held in check. The headlong charge to shield little Andi blinded him to the possibility that he should have been the one to forewarn her of precisely what the act of dropping her tunica intima would entail.

It wasn't Andi's pallor that Paul noticed first. The thin, translucent material of the tunica didn't cling but it was draped in such a way that it accentuated every feminine curve of her slim, young torso. Her usual tight attire was functional in its revelation of her toned skin, this was sexy. Faint shadows and ripples of cloth combining to tease his vision. He could hardly move his gaze to confirm Lee's warning words.

The sandy fawn bra, barely visible, was exactly the kind he had hinted would suit her. Well fitted and supportive, without excess ornamentation. Now he glanced lower again. The tiny panties didn't match the bra, but blended almost perfectly into the colouring of the replica underslip. Only a tiny bump in the fabric above each slender hip belied their presence.

He opened his mouth, but no words escaped him before Andi spluttered something incomprehensible and seemed to vanish into the back corridor by passing between his legs. Polly was equally as stunned and also stood with her mouth slightly ajar.

The volume and anger in the words that came from the toilets were, in their own way, as shocking as the scene which had just played out.

"FUCK!" The force of the impacts that were accompanying each scream must be cracking the plywood of the cubicle partitions. "Fuckity fuckity fuckity fuckity fuckity FUCK! SHIT! SHIT! SHIT! SHIT! SHIT!"

Abruptly, the banging and cursing stopped. The silence in the toilets was mirrored in the kitchen as Polly and Paul held their breaths. Even the murmur of conversation from the half-dressed cast in the Green Room was stilled.

Not a whisper escaped a lip as Andi strode haughtily back into the Green Room, placed her personal items on her jeans, looked at Polly and gave one firm nod.

The proverbial pin remained floating in midair, held by the tension in the room as much as the humans were. No one would say anything before Paul. Not only was he the Producer, the Director, the drive behind much of the Theatre's success... in the minds of those who shared the gossip, he'd taken her under his wing in some fashion. No one was quite sure if it was mentor/pupil, father/daughter or Gainsbourg/Birkin but he had the prerogative, in so many ways.

“Dear Andi,” he started, confidently.

He hesitated. Thoughts chased their tails, crossed over each other, spun off at tangents and descended into the depths of purgatory.

“I'm sorry,” he said, subdued. “I should have explained precisely what you were accepting when you agreed to take this part. If you still want to go ahead, we'll do a few runs as you are and the next step won't happen until you're perfectly comfortable. If you want to stop, no one here will think any less of you. Half of them wouldn't even have considered doing what you could.

The utter silence remained, as the entire cast and crew waited for Andrea's reaction.

 

[AndreaSubbie]

Stifling the screaming in her head while her outward demeanor remained calm, though maybe a slight shake in her hands betrayed her inner turmoil, Andi was cross with herself.

"Are we rehearsing or not?" She stepped forward to make her way past Paul to the wings to wait out her cue. Alone if necessary.

What was wrong with everyone?

Andi wasn't sure if the other members of the company had now found out her embarassing idiotic mistake with her underwear, or somehow knew Polly had joined her in the kitchen to break the news. There was something in the air. An atmosphere you could actually feel.

Surely they all had known for months about the topless bit. Unlike her. She was such a simpleton. Andi knew Paul had tried to explain it from the very beginning, but being just a kid she hadn't got it.

It was all very confusing. And if she'd got that wrong, how much else was she wrong about?

Maybe she'd already lost to Paul's other woman. Maybe the other woman worked on Sundays? Lots of people did. Maybe Paul was just a friend, or he felt sorry for her, or thought of her like his kid? That's what she was, a kid. Maybe all that 'grown woman' stuff was like a mature person's advice?

And how did she really feel about being topless? No-one actually fancied her and anyway her boobs were so small nobody seemed to notice them. And without a bra to draw attention to their existence would anyone even register that she was indeed topless on stage?

Standing all alone in the wings, again humiliated by her own stupidity, Andi wondered if she really had stretched to the limit the Players' well-meaning tolerance and understanding for her immaturity. How long before they finally told her to go home and leave the grown-ups to it?

 

[TheWorldBuilder]

Mandy and Lucy followed Andrea a moment after she left the Green Room through the side door. Whilst the rest of the chorus gathered at the back of the stage, Paul strode through the wings and announced, "OK, today is just costume fitting and a read. We'll do the choreography and some other adjustments later."

As Paul finished, he looked directly at Andi and smiled. He hoped the misunderstanding about her slip wouldn't still be lingering on Sunday morning. Their time together was very special to him, one of the few periods in his busy life when he could really relax.

 

[AndreaSubbie]

She heard the two others join her and turning to them Andrea gave a lop-sided, self-depricating smile as if to say 'sorry' and 'how silly am I?'

Turning back to look out on the Stage she watched the Players assemble under Paul's direction.

Andrea was ashamed of herself. It occurred to her that she had just thrown a tantrum, a full bloodied three year old's tantrum. Ok, so not many three year olds use the words she'd used. But still, she was behaving like a child.

Paul himself said she was a grown woman. She was 18 years old for goodness sake! There was nothing a grown up was allowed to do that she wasn't. Nothing. NOTHING!

So that was the problem. She was still behaving like a child.

Time to grow up.

Lifting her head and squaring her shoulders she adopted her role. She was now the Slave Girl who would not be cowed. They might capture her, dress her in just a scrap of garment, order her about at their merest whim, but they couldn't destroy her. She was Proud and Defiant.

In her adopted guise she looked again out onto the stage and met Paul's eye after he'd made his opening mood-setting remarks and instructions.

She threw everything she had into the look while using her body language to back up the declaration in her face.

I am a woman. I am unconquerable. My body is mine.

Then she smiled at him, a kind of cheeky gawky grin and she knew she loved him. It didn't matter if the other woman won, Andrea had now and Sunday and Paul was hers when they were together.

With her heart lifted and bouyed with her new found freedom, she again stepped into character. Time to show everyone she could be centre stage when the time came, she could be in the Panto, she could do Hobson's.

 

[TheWorldBuilder]

There had been the usual stumbles as everyone brought their individual parts into the same space, but generally the read-through of the first ten short acts of the disjointed play had gone well. As the eleventh act opened, Paul moved to the centre as Mike stood stage right. The chorus were in a slight arc to rear of stage left. Right on cue, Andi took three paces forward and stopped directly behind Paul. He spun round, looked her straight in the eye and then turned left and stepped across to Mike. Two short lines and Lee dimmed the lights to a midnight glow.

Paul glanced over his shoulder to see Andrea moving back between Lucy and Mandy, who both smiled and chattered something inaudible to her. He barely had time to turn back to Mike before Lee was opening the rheostats for Act 12.

At the end of the read, Paul summed up, “OK, that meshed very well. I know that most of you aren't used to this contemporary style of very short acts, but I didn't pick up any glaring fluffs. Chorus, you're all looking far too pretty - this is a war zone, remember? Lee, can you make the background colder without draining the principals? Sorry I fucked up in Act 8, should I fire myself?

There was the usual mixture of catcalls and ribaldry... "Toilet cleaner next month." "Go now." "No one else wants the job." ... to accompany Paul's deprecation and those nearest the wings started to file back down the steps. Little groups formed as the cast changed out of costume and Paul eased his way over towards the kitchen door, where Andrea had left her pile of belongings on the long dressing table as close as she could to her sanctuary.

“You did well there, Andi. Perfectly on time. Now remember what I said, it's up to you on Thursday if you simply come forward as you did tonight or if you play the scene as a proper dress rehearsal. Keep still until the stage is completely dark, are you sure you'll get back to the girls in total blackout?”

 

[AndreaSubbie]

"Oh, I'm sure I'll be fine despite the dark."

Andrea chose not to comment on Paul's suggestions about the Thursday rehearsal. She was tempted to tell him that she'd fully intended to do the 'reveal' tonight, had it all worked out in her head, but that at the critical moment her hands froze and wouldn't travel from her hip to her shoulders. Paul had looked her square in the face and given her no time to overcome her block before moving away to Mike.

As everyone filed away off stage, she did too, surrounded by the now familiar Players, friends really, but also alone in her own little bubble. Mandy and Lucy were being especially nice to her, and Polly was mothering as always, but Andrea was isolated in her introspection, thinking over and over about her 'moment' centre stage.

The truth was, she fluffed it. Paul had said he didn't notice any major fluffs but he'd witnessed up close one of the hugest there was. Andrea fluffed her big scene. She failed. Her brain sent all the right signals down her arms to slip the tunica intima off her shoulders and drop it to her waist, baring herself defiantly so that when Paul moved Stage Right to Mike she would be lit conspicuously bare from the waist up, but her arms hadn't responded. It was serious.

As soon as Paul moved away Andrea garbbed her clothes and cutting through the kitchen headed to the Ladies to change.

She knew the others were all changing openly together in the Green Room, but it just didn't seem right to Andi. It wasn't that she was a prude, well not too much, it just didn't seem right boys and girls changing in the same room. Andi wasn't used to it and felt awkward. Especially about undressing in front of the ladies' husbands. She couldn't really explain why it felt wrong, because obviously no one else felt the same as her.

Anyway, once in the toilets she plonked her clothes on the counter under the mirror and looked at herself in her tunica.

Turning a little this way and that it seemed awfully see through in the harsh light of the toilets, but Andi assumed it wouldn't be as obvious under Lee's lighting. Facing the mirror she recreated her pose, then stepped back to the imaginary chorus and strode forward to the mirror in character. She imagined Paul right there in front of her and raised her hands to slip the garment off her shoulders, uncovering herself completely as far as her waist.

In the mirror her pink nipples looked very bright against the pale skin of her b-cup cones, like a pair of eyes staring right back at her. Perhaps it was all more noticeable than she'd thought. Gathering her determination she imagined Paul moving away to Mike and she held her pose, in character as she'd practiced so many times while clothed, not a statue but a living breathing vibrant woman, waiting for the imaginary Lee to dim the lights. Then she stepped back to the line of the chorus.

Ok, so her hands actually moved this time. Maybe she had to keep repeating this to help them move on Thursday. So she did it again. And again. Eventually changing back into her bra, thong, green t shirt and jeans.

When she returned to the Green Room it seemed like she was the only one left. Her private rehearsals in the Ladies toilets must have taken longer than she thought. She hoped it was worth it. She so hoped she wouldn't freeze again on Thursday.

 

[TheWorldBuilder]

Andrea surreptitiously slipped out of the Green Room when she thought that Paul's attention had been diverted. Superficially it had, perhaps, but there was always a segment of his subconscious that was aware of her presence - or absence. He checked the kitchen a few minutes later and found that she wasn't in her usual sanctuary, so he made his way to the office and reviewed the external camera footage from the previous half hour. The imagery confirmed that she hadn't left and Paul returned to the kitchen to wait.

One by one the Players bade their farewells and faded into the cold October night. Lee and Mandy were among the last and Paul left the kitchen for a moment to speak to them.

“Is she still trying to hide her nerves? When I turned to her, she had that Bambi look in her eyes again. The 'frozen in the headlights' one.”

”I'm not sure. She's certainly nervous but there's something else there as well. It might just take time and patience.” replied Mandy.

The couple left the building and Paul wandered back into the kitchen. What was she doing? There was only one part of the theatre she could possibly be in and Paul wasn't about to go barging into there. She hadn't changed communally with the rest of the cast, segregated only by the flimsy costume rails. Was that it? Could she be that shy? That would give him three weeks to replace her, but how could he let her down gently. She had just started to open up to him and to trust her enigmatic soul to his protection. If he stomped on her now she would shatter too badly for any redemption. Was there any way he could give her privacy to change and yet still expect her to stand openly in public gaze?

It was late, Paul procrastinated and filed the problem for daytime analysis.

His thoughts idled. Without supervision, they flitted aimlessly from metaphor to concept via syntax and fantasy. Ah, yes! Paul's fantasy. The recurring slim figure that occupied every nocturnal narrative and many unguarded moments of supposed attention on important matters, which could only appear mundane through the refraction of his besotted emotional lens.

Dainty footsteps attempted not to echo in the stillness. Paul's disjointed musings coalesced into a recognisable whole and he coughed gently.

“Andi.”

His voice penetrated her introspection.

“Would you prefer to change in my office instead of those cramped toilet stalls?”

 

[AndreaSubbie]

She had just returned her costume to its place on the rail when she heard Paul call her name from the kitchen.

She popped in, poking her head round the door.

"Oh!" she said in answer to his question, "I wasn't changing, I was rehearsing."

It just came out without thought or effort. She could have tried to make up a credible alternative to explain why she'd been gone so long, but instead she simply blurted the truth.

"Of course," she added, "I did actually get changed since I was there anyway, but the mirror, you see?" as if that explained everything.

Stepping properly into the room she crossed over to him, feeling a bit reserved in his presence since her somewhat dramatic discovery of her feelings for him. She knew he'd never reciprocate, but it was still a bit awkward for her even with all the rationalising she'd done.

Forcing herself to be brave, to be grown-up, she stepped over to him, leaned up on tip toes while holding his arm for support, and kissed him once on his cheek before stepping back to lean on the kitchen counter.

"I know it's late, but do you want to come back to mine for a wind-down drink? Or even fruit cake? I don't think I'm ready to go to bed?"

She lowered her chin to her chest and closed her eyes trying to recall that very special moment in the wings when she'd met his eye and her emotional vision had cleared.

She didn't know it, but she was asleep on her feet.

 

[TheWorldBuilder]

"I wasn't changing, I was rehearsing."

He heard her words but missed their implication as she stretched up to kiss his cheek.

"I know it's late, but do you want to come back to mine for a wind-down drink? Or even fruit cake? I don't think I'm ready to go to bed?"

“Remember what happened to your last cake?” He replied, “but the drink sounds nice. Two minutes and I'll lock up.”

Paul was back in the kitchen in about 90 seconds, to find Andrea's head resting on her upper décolletage and a rhythmic sussuration escaping from her throat. “Andi, wake up Andi.”

She murmured something that could have been ”G'night, Paul.” and her soft snores coalesced into an almost continuous purr.

“Oh, fuck,” Paul thought, “she can't sleep here.”

Her final conscious words repeated in his mind. ”....come back to mine....” and he considered if it would be unseemly of him to do just that. Practicalities intruded as he pondered how to move her if she remained soporific.... Keys! How on Earth was he going to find them. He couldn't start running his hands over her body. What would she think if she woke up? It wasn't as if her usual wardrobe choices offered many places to secrete a bunch of keys, but what if she only carried one? He stooped down in front of her and looked closely at the pockets of her tight jeans to see if there was a revealing bulge at either side.

The pockets lay flat, but a length of thin cord led from the right one to the nearest belt loop on the waistband. Paul pinched the fibre between thumb and forefinger and pulled gently. It moved slightly and then stopped. Paul groaned. He was going to have to slide at least one finger inside to find what he needed. Very gently, he lifted the seam and attempted to introduce a digit into the heat radiating from the tiny space. God, it was tight.

”Mmmmm.” she murmured as his finger penetrated the slim gap.

The tip of his probing flesh nudged against something less yielding and he carefully slid past it until he was as deep as he could reach. Gently, he hooked the tip of his finger and slowly eased the round-headed Yale key out of her pocket.

Paul took his own keys and the electronic fob out of his own pocket and transferred them to his left hand. He knelt on one knee, bent the other and leaned forward to place his shoulder into Andi's waist. Using his free hand to pull her over him, he thrust upward with his powerful legs. He could hardly feel her slight weight. Carefully, he carried the still sleeping woman out of the building, triggered the fob and stepped round into Cavendish Street. Now he faced the problem of her narrow stairs.

Andrea was completely motionless draped across his shoulder, only her deep breathing - without purrs, now that her upper body was upside-down - signified her vitality. Having managed to struggle upstairs without knocking her against any obstacles, Paul again sank to one knee. As he had done once before, he flipped the upper covers to the side before rolling her gently onto the bed.

He recalled her comments after their last impromptu sleep session. She seemed to be so deeply asleep that he wondered if she would feel him stripping her. He hesitatingly unbuttoned the front of her tight jeans.

Andrea sighed contentedly.

Carefully, he removed her shoes and tried to ease the waistband over her slim hips. The fabric gave slightly to accommodate her feminine curves and he triumphantly slid the cloth down her legs. Placing one hand behind her shoulders, he lifted her and faced the equally tricky challenge of getting her tight top over her head.

He gazed for a moment at her slim curves, now clad only in simple bra and thong, before flicking the covers over her.

Taking some juice from the fridge, Paul sat on the bean bag for a few moments as his conflicted mind tried to come to a decision. He stood. Undressing quickly to his underbriefs, he slid under the covers, turned on his side and wrapped his arm across the sleeping girl.

Andi felt his warmth and turned in her sleep to push her pert bum into his groin, snuggling back into him as they spooned.

 

[AndreaSubbie]

Andrea was enjoying her dream. It was delicious but the more she tried to hold on to it the further it slipped from her grasp until she realised she was trying to dream and must therefore be waking up.

A smile spread across her face turning into a grin, and then she felt Paul's arm across her waist and his body against her back.

She was awake.

Paul was in bed with her.

They had slept together. Again.

The grin stayed in place and spread to her now open eyes which if anyone could have seen them would have sparkled despite the early hour.

She snuggled back deeper into Paul's sleeping body. She thought he must be asleep because he was totally relaxed. His arm was heavy across her but she put her own over it and dragged his hand onto her tummy just below her belly button. That was when she registered that she was naked. No, not naked, she still had her underwear on. But Paul must have undressed her and put her to bed. Her grin got wider still. This was lovely. Holding his thick strong wrist she rubbed her belly with his hand and sighed in happiness, except the sigh came out more like a little rumble. Was she purring?

Lifting his hand to her face she kissed his palm, placed his hand on her hip and then pulled back the covers.

Scrambling out of bed taking care not to wake him, she went over to the kitchenette and put then kettle on, yawning and stretching up towards the ceiling, unselfconscious in her flesh colour bra and tiny white thong.

Which reminded her of the rehearsal last night, and her freeze. She couldn't tell Paul. It wasn't fair to worry him. It was something she'd have to work out herself. In her mind she replayed the 'rehearsing' she'd done in front of the mirror in the Ladies toilets, slipping the 'tunica intima' off her shoulders over and over until she could do it in her mind without the actual costume. Yes, she'd keep rehearsing the actions in her mind every spare minute before Thursday. She wanted to get it right.

Making herself a cup of tea and pouring a jug of chilled tomato juice, bending low to the fridge as she put things away, Andi decided she ought to give Paul a front door key. She'd get one cut.

Then glancing across at him with affection she took her tea to the bathroom to shower, sipping her steamimg brew as she went.

Shortly after, she emerged wrapped in her tiny towel which was tucked closed just above her boobs, damp hair combed straight, and went to give Paul his juice.

"Morning, Bear."

 

[TheWorldBuilder]

Andi's lilting singing voice percolated into Paul's mind as he lay under the thin cover. He was aware that her tiny body wasn't resting against him and he missed the feel of her soft skin. She sounded quite perky, reassuring him that he had made the right choice the night before. He lay half asleep, pondering the implications of his current position. Both times their bed-sharing had been due to sheer fatigue. She appeared content not only to have spooned in underwear, but that he had undressed her. Paul tried to rationalise the intimacy with his disbelief that the vivacious young woman would want any kind of closeness with a slightly chubby curmudgeon, 30 years her senior. He knew that his longing could only be an unattainable fantasy, what exactly did she see him as?

His reverie was interrupted as she called ”Morning, Bear.”

“Hmmm. Hello, Andi.” he replied groggily.”Aren't you going to be late for lectures?”

 

[AndreaSubbie]

"Oh no, no lectures this morning!" she replied breezily and putting the kettle on again started humming her happy tune.

Still in just her little towel she brought Paul his tomato juice and then bustled about her tiny kitchenette making toast and another cup of tea, finally setting everything out on her small table near the bed. Paul would only need to roll his legs out of their bed and sit up and he'd be almost on top of it.

She'd again not worried about bending low to retrieve the butter from the fridge or get the jar of marmalade since she was reconciled to being of no visual interest to Paul. Or any man, come to that, given the total absence of any remoke spark of interest from the Players. So although the towel occasionally flapped and parted she felt safe and untroubled.

"Ok, so toast and marmalade and tomato juice. Maybe I should learn to cook eggs for the next time we sleep together, for your breakfast I mean?" And helping herself to a slice she smiled into Paul's disheveled unshaven face and tucked hungrily into breakfast.

"So can we go to the Market Place this morning? There's something I need to do and I thought we might go together?"

Getting up from her little wooden dining chair she went over to her dresser and tugged open the rickety top drawer, pulling out a pair of cream colour cotton low front knickers edged with purple and with a pretty little satin purple bow at the front. Side on to Paul she slipped her legs into them one foot at a time and pulled them up snug, then opened another drawer to fish out a lightweight plain white cotton bra.

"I hope you approve of this one!" she giggled, dangling it from one hand to show him, then again side on she dropped her towel to the floor and slipped the bra on in a smoothe fluid motion. She turned to face him. "ok?"

Happy that she'd made a good choice she scurried round until she found her jeans from yesterday and squeezed herself into them, and finally grappled with another drawer to get a clean t shirt, blue this time, which like all the others failed to meet the wasitband of her jeans.

"Feel free to use the bathroom, there's plenty of hot water for the shower. It's all included in my rent so use as much as you want."

Looking at her reflection in the dressing mirror she brushed her hair and tied it in a ponytail, not bothering with makeup. Then she topped up her tea and tidied up while Paul got ready.

 

[TheWorldBuilder]

Andrea bimbled about, her humming punctuated by a few words sung from time to time. As Paul's eyes came into focus, he saw that she was again wearing a postage stamp for a towel. She put a glass of juice next to him, the damp fabric swirling inches from his nose as she turned.

Back in her tiny kitchen, her bending and stretching revealed tantalising glimpses of her toned flesh as she prepared the food for them both. The extra weight of the water absorbed by the towel and the tiny amount of friction that it caused were sufficient to prevent the fabric sliding completely off her thighs this time. There was no confirmation that, unlike many of her generation, Andi had resisted the constant bombardment from the depilation industry.

”Maybe I should learn to cook eggs for the next time...” Andi said, as she laid the breakfast on the small table by the bed.

Paul tried not to show his internal relief. He didn't want to hurt her feelings in any way, but sausages and eggs would be a far better start to the day than toast. Maybe that would have been tolerable with a decent dollop of strawberry jam, but tart marmalade of all things? He glanced across at her smiling face and decided that bringing her home had been exactly the right thing to do. Did that mean she really would sleep with him in the vulgar parlance. No, that was a step too far. Even as he looked at her thighs, revealed more now as the towel was dried by the warmth of her body and began to slide open below her breasts, he knew that he had to let her set the pace. If anything was going to happen between them, she had to initiate it. Maybe they could sleep at his on Sunday? He normally slept naked, but he'd take his cue from her state of undress.

”Can we go to Market Place this morning?” she asked.

Paul nodded, then watched mesmerised as she crossed to an old dressing table and airily waved clean underwear at him. With no embarrassment at his proximity, she slid the tiny garment up her legs and under the towel, lifting its hem to pull the pants around her buttocks and vulva. She then produced a white teen bra and dangled it in front of Paul's astonished face.

"I hope you approve of this one!" she giggled, as she dropped the towel to the floor.

Paul was unable to express any opinion concerning her clothing as he processed the brief moment when he had seen her breasts fully, in the instant before they were covered again. The old adage about small ones sagging less passed quickly through his mind, pushed to one side by the memory of the symmetrical, pert perfection of her small, pale, conical mounds which were topped by half-crown sized areolæ barely any darker. Her nipples stood proud and firm in the morning light, invitingly ready for his lips.

Grabbing the jeans Paul had carefully folded last night, Andi continued opening drawers whilst chirping cheerfully, "Feel free to use the bathroom, there's plenty of hot water for the shower.”

Paul was reluctant to leave the bed. Being a 'grower', he could usually move around half dressed without too large a bulge on show, but Andrea's proximity and the sight of her flesh had aroused him sufficiently to make his briefs constrict uncomfortably.

He waited until she turned to brush her hair and nipped quickly across the room, hoping that she wouldn't see the way that the cloth stretched over his partial erection reflected in the mirror.

After his shower, he dried himself as best he could using one of her tiny towels and slipped his briefs back on. Opening the door to the main room, he commented “It's a good job you're tiny, I banged my elbows about half a dozen times. You'll have to try mine next time you're over.”

 

[AndreaSubbie]

"Oh, ok," she replied, then added after a moment's thought, "and maybe while we're out we can get a couple of new toothbrushes? Then you can have one at mine and I can have one at yours?"

The cheerful and constant chatter continued all the way down to the front door and through to Market Place.

Most of what she said was of no consequence and didn't really call for any reply on Paul's part. Quite simply, Andrea was happy.

"Was there ever a more perfect start to a day?" she asked among a litany of mostly facile observations pouring from her fulfilled, content and satisfied mind. "oh, and we probably need to buy towels. I'm sure mine are far too small for a man as big as you! Do you have enough at your place for when I'm with you? Oh, and another thing. Book shop! I need a recipe book for how to cook man-breakfasts. What do you like?"

She didn't really stop long enough for a proper answer since she'd spotted the shoe repair place.

"Oh, we need to go in here!" and she lead the way in, presenting her front door key to be copied. Once it was done she handed the new one to Paul.

"For the next time you have to take me to bed," she announced before they'd even left the shop.

"Right, let's find a cafe. I'm pooped and need to sit down. Then maybe we can talk about what we're going to do for the rest of the day."

Suddenly Andrea's smile faded and she grabbed Paul's arm, stopping them both and turning him towards her.

"Am I talking too much? Am I ruining everything? It's just that I'm having such a lovely time. Are you fed up with me?"

And she looked deep into those beautiful eyes searching for reassurance.

 

[TheWorldBuilder]

Paul felt awkward in yesterday's clothes. Yes, he'd made the best of Andi's tiny shower but he wanted a fresh shirt and briefs on. He was only half listening to her bubbly chatter as they made their way along Carleton Street to the canal but it didn't seem as if she was expecting him to reply anyway. As they crossed over Gallows Bridge, she mentioned towels and in the middle of Poundland's car park it was breakfast recipes. Opposite the Woolly Sheep, at the foot of Market Place, she pulled him towards Timpsons.

As she presented him with the freshly cut key, she loudly proclaimed ”For the next time you have to take me to bed." Outside, she continued "Right, let's find a cafe.”

Paul took one of her tiny hands and started up the slope towards the castle. Suddenly she grabbed his arm and pulled him to a halt in mid-stride. "Am I talking too much? Am I ruining everything? It's just that I'm having such a lovely time. Are you fed up with me?"

He looked down at her and smiled. “I don't think I could ever be fed up with you. Now fed up by you, well that's a different matter.” His deep chuckle rumbled for a moment and then he stooped slightly to look her directly in the eyes. “You can chatter as much as you want if it means you're having a lovely time, Andi. Come on, the café in the castle courtyard does great toasties. They even make specials for me. You can sit down and we'll talk, but what I really want to do after we've eaten is get some fresh clothes on.” He began walking again, past the variety of shops that lined the edge of the wide thoroughfare. As it wasn't one of the market days and well out of the tourist season, there weren't the crowds which the summer brought. Paul watched Andi's eyes flick from one storefront to the next for the whole quarter mile to the castle gate.

 

[AndreaSubbie]

"Oh! I didn't think! I'm so sorry. I'm being totally selfish. You probably wanted to just go home and get changed?"

Again she searched his face while they climbed the rise, anxious that he wasn't just 'putting up with her'. But the open genuine smile he'd given and his rumble laugh and the little joke about being fed by her all said he was enjoying himself too.

Reassured, she scanned the shops for a suitable outlet that might provide men's socks, underwear and shirts.

"If you don't mind changing in a shop fitting room, maybe I can choose you something new?" And again she looked up at him, wondering how the tastes of an 18 year old girl barely out of school would be received by a mature lovely cuddly Man of the World. The thought made her smile.

By the time they actually got the Castle Cafe she was hungry.

Paul led her in and she looked around the light airy room with its little round tables. She dragged him to a table by the big windows.

"Can I have the same as you, please? I don't know about you, but I'm famished!"

She deliberately avoided the childish innuendo about wanting him to 'fill her up'. She had made that momentous decision hadn't she, to grow up and just be herself and not try the Adult funnies since she was no good at them. And just look at the results! Her she was, in a cafe with Paul, him saying she could sleep over at his, or at least use his shower, right after sleeping with him. Again. Did it honestly get better than that?

Yes, of course she knew it wasn't going any further. Yes of course she was a little disappointed that she was the Ugly Duckling of the Company. What girl doesn't want to feel pretty?

Which lead her mind on to the Play. And her special moment. In a way it made everything better. Since she was unattractive and tiny breasted her 'Reveal' was just an Artistic Episode. It wasn't pornographic or anything, nothing to be ashamed of. Or embarassed about. Though she probably wouldn't tell her mother, or probably even her sister Sarah. But she was still nervous that she might freeze in the Performance, or even at rehearsal tomorrow.

Then it dawned on her that one reason she was chattering non-stop was because she was nervous, and was hiding it behind her new found genuine happiness.

Oh well, she thought. People are complicated.

Still thinking about food she asked, "So where should we go on Sunday, for lunch?"

 

[TheWorldBuilder]

The toasted sandwiches that Paul had ordered for them both arrived before Paul could answer. He wondered what Andi would make of the strange concoction. Some of his friends found even the thought of combining ham, corned beef, chicken, pepperoni and cheese outlandish. Smiling back across the table at her, he replied: “No carvery this weekend? What do you fancy instead?”

Clothes. She wanted to buy him clothes. He was quite comfortable in his familiar, worn jeans or loose cotton shirt and trouser ensembles. He thought of the options available back down towards her flat. She probably wasn't thinking TOG, Mountain Warehouse or Trespass, Dawson's wasn't really his style and he wouldn't be seen dead in FatFace. Burtons or Jenson Samuel then, close together and on the way to Cavendish Street. He thought for a moment, conflicting emotions again fighting for attention. She wanted to buy him things, personal things, and she seemed very happy at their growing closeness. Could she really be something more than the friend she had become. Paul cut the thought off even as it started to form. There was no point having his hopes dashed once again. He would take her to Market Cross and let her choose a little trinket, nothing too elaborate though. The last thing he wanted was any of the Players thinking he was her sugar daddy.

His ruminations had flashed through his mind so quickly that Andi had barely started to reply to his question.

 

[AndreaSubbie]

"Oh no! The Carvery is perfect!" and she took a bite of .. of what?

She stopped chewing, looked at the toastie in her hand, peeled back the bread a bit to look with utter consternation and wonder at the insides, shrugged, started chweing again and closed the sandwhich.

"This is, er, interesting?" she quipped before taking another bite. Hm, interesting yes, but would she have it again? Maybe, if she thought of it as a pizza between two pieces of toast.

Happy that she had solved that puzzle she let her mind move on the next conundrum.

Clothing. Would he let her choose him something? Given a free choice she'd get him a nice dark suit, well cut, to be worn with an open cotton collared shirt perhaps, and black polished leather shoes. But she couldn't actually afford any one of those.

"If you don't want to go clothes shopping that's fine, maybe we should just go home and you can change there?"

In the end after eating they found a couple of shirts that were a bit different to his normal choice but still acceptable to him, and wound up at the Market Cross jewellers. She chose a simple silver locket in the shape of a heart and she bought him a nice manly black leather key pouch thing so he could put her front door key in with his Theatre keys.

"This way you'll always be able to drop by my place after, or take me home, or anything!" and she beamed with pleasure at finding such a suitable gift. She so hoped Paul actually liked it, and would use it.

When they got to his place Andrea intended to have a look round under the pretence of needing the bathroom. She just had to look for signs of the Other Woman; toothbrush in the bathroom, hairbrush, cushions, shoes, laundry arrangements. Despite everything she had rationalised, Andrea was still jealous and was desperately hoping that she would be the only woman with her own things in Paul's house. Which was why she was angling for them to go home sooner than later. The Not Knowing was like an itch that had to be scratched.

 

[TheWorldBuilder]

Andi asked for the bathroom as soon as they got to Embsay.

“Bathroom, toilet or wet room?” Paul replied. He hoped that he'd set out the small bedroom next to his as she would want it. Not that he wanted her to use it, of course. His preference would be for her to join him, but he knew that he had to take one small step at a time. It would be enough for now simply to hint that she would be welcome to move in.

As he heard the sounds of her moving around upstairs, he went into the downstairs toilet and freshened himself up before putting on the paler of the shirts she had selected. Back in the lounge, he took the large but unwieldy fob out of his pocket and began to arrange all his keys in a logical order in the voluminous leather pouch.

“Tea, Andi?” he called upstairs.

 

[AndreaSubbie]

"Yes please!"

Paul's shouted question from downstairs interrupted her private expionage. Jane Bond, the intrepid Secret Agent was having a quick scout round before using the toilet upstairs and flushing to indicate she was done.

The bathroom next door to the toilet was small but nice .. hadn't really been used much and no shower!

The next room was full of the kind of stuff that just overflows in every house. Back at her Mum's it was all in the garage. No signs of her rival ever visiting this room.

Next what looked like a nice second bedroom, simple but tasteful, and as she turned to leave a picture caught her eye. Going back into the room she crossed to the night stand and picked up the framed photograph.

The blood drained from her face as she stared. What did this mean? She was confused. Was she cross? Or just confused?

She looked at the familiar face staring back out at her. familiar but looking different, as photographs do when compared to a mirror image. It was her. Andrea. Where had he got it? When? How?

Surely the Other Woman would never stand for this? Unless he told her that this was a neice or something? Yes, that was likely. But did it mean that this was her room? Andrea's room? That she wasn't allowed in his? Maybe except to use his shower? Maybe it would be better if they slept over at her tiny apartment after all?

Putting the picture down carefully she crept into the last room upstairs, the Master. It was a generous size, with a huge bed, probably twice the size of hers? And an en-suite. This would be her competition's territory, and she braced herself for an array of feminine products.

She was stunned. Tears formed in her eyes faster than she could blink them away. She looked everywhere to winkle out every sign, all the evidence.

Total haul? Nothing. Not a scrap. It was a man's bathroom, well room that included a generous sized walk-in shower. Room enough for Paul AND ...

STOP! Just room enough for Paul! Let's leave it there, she mused, her mind trying to adjust to the reality being totally not what she expected.

Had Paul had a clear out? Were the other woman's things hidden somewhere else? Maybe she never came here and they met at hers? That would make sense.

In which case, she'd never discover that Andrea stayed over, here. That made her feel better. Walking back into the bedroom she crossed to the big bed and leaning over kissed Paul's pillow. Probably the last time she'd ever be this close to it.

Sighing with satisfaction she popped into the toilet that she'd looked in first and flushed without having used it, then washed her hands and came downstairs for tea.

"How on earth did you get a photograph of me? The one in my bedroom?" accepting the mug from him, forgetting that Secret Service Agents don't admit at the first opportunity that they've been spying.

 

[TheWorldBuilder]

“Don't you remember? Week last Sunday when you were skipping happily down the Pennine Way, alongside Malham Beck. I was holding the BlackBerry.”

”I thought you were phoning someone.”

“No, I wanted to capture how beautiful you looked in the sunshine. A memory. If it feels odd having it there, I'll put it back in my room. Now, how do you fancy a film to curl up to?”

Her broad smile told him that he'd made the right suggestion.

Paul moved across to a long panel which appeared flush with the wall and pulled the front so that it hinged down flat. Four rows of DVD cases stretched across the recess between his eyeline and his waist, wider than Andi could stretch both arms. Most of them were single cases, but scattered apparently haphazardly amongst them were some twin and triples and even a few boxsets.

“Action, history and documentary at the top; science fiction, fantasy and Hammer horror next; comedies and genre crossovers third down and romances at the bottom. Each shelf alphabetical by title, except sequels which follow the name of the first release.” Paul explained.

Andi could see some films she recognised, but they were certainly a minority of the.... hmmm, maybe a thousand?

She stepped forward to look at the bottom row, easily within reach. Her finger pulled the top of one slim plastic box outwards and she handed it to Paul.

“OK, park your arse and I'll grab some nibbles.”

She was wriggling into his settee, leaving him a space to her left, when he came out of the kitchen carrying a large tray. It was loaded with strawberry cheesecake, caramel crispies, chocolate bars, cakes, biscuits and his big mug of pear juice. Placing the assortment of foods on the long, low table in front of their seat, he crossed to the big flatscreen and put the DVD into the player.

Taking his place to Andi's left, Paul lifted a remote from next to the tray of food, sank bank in his usual reclined posture, stretched his right arm across the back of the furniture and waited for her to tip herself with her feet tucked under and her head by his armpit. He laid his hand gently on her right hip and pressed the button to start the story of Ilsa and Rick.

It was a hundred minutes later when Paul pressed a button on the remote again. Neither wanted to leave their comfortable place, but both needed to move around a little. They used separate rooms to answer their needs and when Paul came down he asked, “which parts of the house haven't you seen yet?”

Andi thought of her biker fantasy and said simply, “Motorcycle.”

Making their way into the large garage, Andi paused to look again at the model of a station and surrounding streets.

“That's how Skipton station used to be.” Paul told her. “When you could go from here to York, Morecambe, Blackpool, even Scotland. Beeching left the lines alone, but that bloody Castle woman decided to shut them.” He pointed at part of the station, where a tiny locomotive sat waiting with six miniature coaches. “That's the platform trains from here used to go to, the other way takes them to Colne.”

Squeezing further in, she stood next to Paul's rather large, deep blue Triumph. Andi was unprepared for his hands to grasp her waist and lift her high into the air, but she opened her legs as he lowered her down onto the pillion seat. It felt as if she was sat on a marshmallow, which contoured itself to the shape of her bum.

“Comfy?” Paul asked, before again picking her up like a feather and putting her back on her feet.

As they went back into the house, Paul enquired “Have you filled that little belly with chocolate or would you like some fish and chips? There's a good takeaway in the village.”

 

[AndreaSubbie]

"Ooh! Fish 'n chips sounds great!"

This was turning into the best day ever. Ok so she might have already thought that, but it really was.

"Oh, and no mushy peas! Yuk!" she added.

On their way into the village Andrea was fairly quiet, in a nicely mellow state. Her mind kept wandering back to the motorcycle. The Triumph; and her mind was doing very naughty things.

Paul had lifted her up and lowered her onto his seat. And she'd spread her legs for him. It was terribly lewd. But it felt so good. In so many ways. Being lifted as if she weighed nothing to him. He was very strong and the way his hands held her was so nice. It was almost sexual. Except he didn't think of her like that, of course.

Being lowered, legs apart, on to that masculine machine which she gripped between her parted knees. She could almost imagine the hot manliness of it throbbing against her when the engine was running.

"You HAVE to take me out on your Triumph!" she blurted as if it was the most natural thing to say after being quiet for ages and not having mentioned it before.

Back at home they had their shared supper in a cosy friendly atmosphere, just chatting and laughing and enjoying each other's company, and Andrea wondered what it would be like to actually live with this man, instead of visiting? She'd let him go to his other woman whenever he wanted. She'd be torn up with jealousy of course, but it would be worth it. Just to have him.

But then she thought about it again. Was that Paul? Was he like that? Would he do that to her? Not that he wanted her so it was all academic.

No, she decided. If ever Paul did want her, he'd want just her. Unless they shared someone? People do that? She didn't know, it was way beyond her experience.

After she cleared up and brought them drinks, juice for him and a large mug of steaming Yorkshire tea for her, she pulled their next film from Paul's highly organised collection. Such a man; it made her smile.

He wanted 'Ghost'.

"Oh, I've heard of this old classic but never seen it," and she looked at the back of the box to remind her what it was about.

Copying what Paul did before, she popped the disc in the player and came back to snuggle with him on the sofa. Except in this house we call it a settee, she reminded herself.

She curled into him again, and this grabbed his thick wrist to plonk his hand on her right hip, like before. She liked it there. She even kept her own hand over his arm to keep it there.

As the film progressed she found her self gripping the wrist tighly while she endured the emotional roller-coaster that had her crying buckets. Except in the potter's wheel scene where somehow his hand ended up running little circles on her tummy. Did paul have any idea what that did to her?

By the end of the film she was exhausted, and letting Paul turn the machine off she burrowed into his hot strong reassuring body.

"You won't let yourself get killed like that, will you?" she asked in a quiet voice, before letting her eyelids droop, right hand slipping off his wrist, then pressing firmly against his chest which felt so nice through a shirt. She drifted into sleep.

Ages later she woke up, and sensed that Paul was awake, too.

"Can we go to bed?" she asked.

 

[TheWorldBuilder]

Andi had been snuggled against him for two delightful hours. He'd stepped through his playlist choices until he found 'Mellow' and, as the soaring tones of 'Samba Pa Ti' and 'Parisienne Walkways' filled the room, he watched the young woman as she lay at peace. His free hand moved from her flat tummy to the wavy, dark tresses which fell just past her shoulders. Gently, rhythmically, he brushed his fingertips through the softness from her scalp to the nape of her neck. Occasionally, she murmured in her sleep but, to Paul, her soft snoring sounded like a contented purr.

He recalled the way she had become absorbed entirely into the two films, first 'Casablanca' and then 'Ghost', laughing one moment and weeping uncontrollably the next. Paul was glad he hadn't opted for the cheesier alternative of 'Love Story' when she had said that it was his turn to choose. His thoughts idly drifted back to snippets of their days together, moments of shared laughter amidst the beauty of the western Dales. For a short time, he let himself believe that she could be beside him for more than just an occasional day. That she would stay.

His self-indulgent reverie was broken as she began to stir on his lap. She slowly emerged from her tranquil sleep and looked up into his eyes.

"Can we go to bed?" she asked.

Paul consciously held his breath for a moment. It was so tempting to read more into the question than the innocent girl intended. She was obviously tired: part of him had been thinking of, once again, carrying her to her quarters as she slumbered.

“Yes, you've got lectures in the morning.” He broke off the duelling guitars of Harrison and Clapton, waited for Andi to stretch and swing her legs to the floor and then he stood up, slightly stiff on his left side. He reached down and took one tiny hand as she, too, raised herself up. The staircase was barely wide enough for Paul alone, so he let Andi lead. As she turned into the short passage at the top of the stairs, he wondered for a moment which door she would step through.

Andi stopped outside the smaller room and turned to look up at Paul. As her face lifted, he could resist no longer. He bent forward and kissed her on the lips.

“Goodnight, sweet Andi.” he said, as he straightened after what couldn't have been more than a single second, but felt like minutes.

 

[AndreaSubbie]

The kiss.

The Kiss!

THE KISS!

Her heart actually stopped beating and her breathing suspended. Probably the World had stopped turning, too. She didn't care about that.

Paul had kissed her.

After a century or so, his lips left hers and he said 'Goodnight,' or something, and in a bit of a daze Andrea turned to her room, somehow finding the door and operating the handle all on her own, though she saw neither.

Standing inside the smaller bedroom with her back against that same closed door, she felt her knees tremble; but at least her heart was beating again, well hammering, and she could breathe.

What was Paul doing to her?

She knew he was really a kind man, but how could he torment her like this? They were sleeping together, she willingly spread her legs for him, he caressed her tummy, they kissed. He must have no idea what he was putting her through. He didn't desire her, but he was arousing a whole new world of desire in her.

On shaky legs she stumbled to the bed and sat on the edge, looking at the photograph he'd taken of her. It really was rather good. If you looked at it in a certain way you could almost pretend she was pretty. Almost.

Hot tears stung her eyes as she pushed away the temptation to imagine how it could be, the temptation to cling to the flirtatious attention she'd received when first she joined the players, the temptation to return to the view of herself in which she was attractive.

No, the Ugly Duckling had to make the best of what she had. Paul liked her as a friend, or maybe like a favourite neice, and that was all she was going to get. It would have to do.

Undoing her jeans she laid back on the bed and tugged them down and off. Down to her knickers. That reminded how he hadn't reacted or shown any interest in her when she'd put them on this morning.

Her t shirt followed, then her bra which at least had his platonic approval, and draping the three garments over the empty side of the bed she slid under the covers.

She couldn't sleep.

How could she sleep after a day like today? Ok, so she'd slept downstairs on the sofa, no the settee, but that was with Paul. She didn't want to sleep alone. At least when they were at her place he had to sleep in the same bed with her, he had to sleep with her. Had to.

She wanted to get up and go to his room and climb into bed with him, just as she was. Maybe she could put her t shirt on. But she didn't want him to think she was asking him for that. Didn't want to him to think she was that kind of girl. She wasn't. Well, she was, but she wasn't. She hadn't. Ever.

He'd be horrified, hate her, feel pressurised, reject her, be cross with himself for upsetting her when really it would be all her fault, never his.

All she wanted was to snuggle next to him, maybe spoon her back into him, feel his furnace like body pressed against her, his strong arm round her, his big hand on her tummy, her bare tummy, running those circles again. Making her feel so nice inside.

Then he'd roll onto his back and somehow lift her up by her waist and lower her onto his seat. Except now there was nothing between them. He'd lower her onto him until he was inside her, where he should be, and she'd become a woman, his woman, and they'd laugh and cry in happiness, and everything would be ok for ever until they both peaked.

Her dream drifted from one scene to another, alternately making her smile or cry, and by the time she woke in the morning she felt like she hadn't slept at all. Crawling groggily out of bed, she left her room and crossed to the small toilet to empty her bladder. When she was done she headed for her room still a little bleary. And she had lectures today.